She was cool underneath the sheets that did little to ward off the increasingly present fall chill. The silky red patterned tank top and shorts not much better, Cuddy was cold. And her body was lightly shaking for reasons she wanted to believe had everything to do with the temperature. But that wasn't true, and she knew it.
Because in her pounding heart, she could feel it: she was nervous… afraid even. It hadn't even been a full twenty-four hours. But as the day progressed and the knowledge that she was Joy's mother sank in further, Cuddy was becoming more and more unnerved.
She was a mother now.
And an unprepared one at that; the adoption had gone through at the last minute, and she'd been hoping for those last two weeks of pregnancy to get the spare bedroom painted and to buy all of the things a newborn needed. But now that Joy had come early, Cuddy was behind, way behind. And even if her daughter was in the hospital for the next day or two, Cuddy was still going to have to hurry get everything ready in time.
Granted… she wasn't completely unprepared. The day the adoption had been approved, she'd purchased a crib. The premature act one she would have probably regretted if everything were to fall through, it had been a spontaneous one – if buying anything for a baby she'd craved for for three years could qualify as "spontaneous."
But Cuddy was nothing short of grateful for the celebratory purchase now. Because regardless of what she didn't have, she at least had a place for Joy to sleep.
Of course, as it was right now, the crib was completely unusable. Filled to the brim with stuffed animals and toys and coated with thick plastic drop cloth, it might have been assembled, but it really was little more than a choking hazard. Hell, it was a death trap, and she clearly couldn't place her baby in that.
The rest was supposed to be taken care of in the morning. The painters were coming at ten to paint the nursery; at noon workers from the baby shop were coming to assemble the changing table, armoire, and rocking chair. They were also going to install shelves that she'd been assured, with condescending smirks on their faces, Joy would never be able to climb on and leap off of.
They'd also assured her that they could get the job done in a matter of hours. But all Cuddy could picture, as she tried to get some sleep, was all the ways this could go wrong.
Wilson had offered to sit and wait for the workmen to come in the morning, and she'd eagerly accepted. Because, as much as she didn't mind waiting herself, this way, she would be able to get into the hospital and see Joy earlier in the day.
But on the other hand… Wilson wasn't a perfect choice. She trusted him implicitly, but she couldn't help but think of a million little what ifs that would ruin everything. What would happen if House dragged him away? What would happen if Wilson were in the middle of a phone consult or consoling a distraught patient when the painters came?
Or for that matter, what if the painters never came, she wondered.
What if one of them hit their head on the chandelier? Or what if one suddenly began to have an allergic reaction to something in her home?
And while one of those men went into anaphylaxis in her mind, Cuddy wondered about the smaller details of the project – like the paint color. What if it was all wrong? She'd picked yellow, but what if Joy hated it?
Of course it was stupid to worry about that now when the little girl was only hours old. Cuddy knew that much, especially considering a baby wouldn't care one way or the other what colors the nursery was. But somehow the possibility of her daughter hating yellow plagued her mind, seemed like proof that Cuddy didn't really know her own child like she thought she instinctively should.
But even setting that ridiculous concern aside, Cuddy still questioned the yellow. What if it was too light to cover the green that had come with the house? What if she'd needed primer in order to get the right shade?
She hadn't purchased it, hadn't even considered it at the paint store, and now there was the very real possibility that her daughter was going to have to live in a room the color of mucus.
Oh God.
Oh God. This was a disaster, she thought, beginning to hyperventilate. A panic attack easily setting in over her and gripping at the edges of her sanity, she could feel her breath coming out in short spurts. The feeling as though there wasn't enough oxygen in the room burning in her lungs, Cuddy realized:
Nothing was ready.
The nursery wasn't ready, and she wasn't ready, and there was no reason to even try to sleep right now.
She shouldn't even be trying to sleep, she thought bitterly. She hadn't earned the right to relax. And especially when House was predicting that all of this would fall apart, she should be ensuring that it absolutely wasn't going to.
The punishing thought aggravating her already frazzled mind, Cuddy pushed the covers off of her body. Getting out of bed in one fluid motion, she snatched her white bathrobe and quickly put it on. Her hands didn't even bother to do the sash as she headed straight toward the nursery.
Turning on the spotlight she'd placed in the room, she turned toward the paint. With a sigh, she told herself: even if she wasn't ready, she could, in the very least, take steps towards making sure the room was. Grabbing a paint roller, she got to work.
The desire for sleep was completely gone from her now anyway. Which was always the case when she was creating activities for herself in order to avoid the doubts plaguing her mind. House liked to describe it as "her head exploding," but the truth was it wasn't like that for her. Instead of an overabundance of emotions, in these times, Cuddy would really just… cease to think. Her body acting on its own accord, she would do one task right after another only to eventually look up and fail to remember how she got there.
But she quickly realized that this wasn't going to be like that. Even though she'd started to paint mindlessly, her brain was still trying to unravel all of the problems that seemed present in her life. Or rather, she couldn't stop thinking about the one: House. Because even though her concerns with Joy had not been fully allayed, she was doing the best she could to do just that. She was making headway there.
But her issues with House…
Well, they weren't going to go away on their own. And while she'd been willing to believe that his problems with this adoption weren't going to be her own before, she could now see that wasn't true at all. He was making this her problem, and Cuddy was beginning to understand that he would never deal with this on his own accord.
Nor would he get over it suddenly by fully appreciating the art of the silent treatment she was trying to give him. She had thought that maybe, by not responding to his crap, he would take the hint. But she probably should have learned a long time ago that a lack of a reaction on her part would force him to do more outrageous things.
And, really, how long would it be before those pranks and jokes and hurtful acts became focused on Joy herself?
Looking at the half-green, half-yellow wall, Cuddy sighed. It probably wasn't fair to think that way. House was able to control himself when he wanted to. He would be no more hurtful to her daughter than he was to anyone else. And Cuddy knew that he would hold Joy, at some point, in some measure of respect simply out of her relation to Cuddy herself. Because, as much as House tried not to like anyone, she knew that he held her in a higher regard than he did most others.
Which was… precisely the problem, she realized with another sigh, in his acceptance. He cared about her, in his own way, anyway. And he obviously didn't want to see her get hurt or for things to change, even though they undoubtedly would. He just wanted everything to stay as it was, wanted to keep her at his beck and call.
He wanted her all to himself.
And why she should have ever thought that he would immediately accept a baby in her life she didn't know.
As she made a long stroke of yellow on the wall, she couldn't help but think that kind of blind optimism had been stupid. House was a very sensitive person, sensitive to change, at least, with coping mechanisms that really didn't work at all. Which meant that the slightest hint that things might be different sent him spiraling.
So yes, she thought once more, it really had been idiotic to think that he could easily adjust. Or to think that he would even eventually warm up to Joy, because House would never do that on his own. He would always stubbornly cling to the past over embracing the future – especially when he believed that the change in his life was temporary.
And until he accepted that Joy was here to stay, a permanent fixture in their lives, he wouldn't ever move on.
The catch-22 was as apparent as the long streaks of yellow she was painting on the moss-colored walls. He wouldn't accept that this was a permanent change in their lives until he'd accepted that Joy was being adopted – and he wouldn't accept Joy being adopted until he knew that this was going to be forever.
It was hopeless, she immediately thought, her hand ready to throw the paint roller into the pan in frustration.
But then, a small voice inside of her whispered, reassured that the situation wasn't actually hopeless. Because if Cuddy had ever believed anything about House was without hope, she would have cut him out of her life years ago. She'd only kept him around, because she knew that he was capable of kindness, of his own brand of affection, of occasionally embracing her flaws and trying to avoid hurting her with his own.
And that meant… she could work with House. She could, no, would get him to stop acting like an ass (in this regard, anyway).
The first wall of the nursery complete, Cuddy stepped back and surveyed the area. Although the paint was nowhere near dry, so far… it looked okay.
And things, she told herself, would be okay.
House was upset now, but she could make him see reason. She could make him accept this. By forcing him to see that Joy was permanent, by showing him that she could still… be part of his life, Cuddy hoped he would eventually accept her decision to adopt.
There was no set plan in her mind; she had no step-by-step process to follow. After all, it wasn't like there was an adult version of "Mommy won't love the new baby any more than she loves you."
Glancing around the room once more, Cuddy sighed. The yellow was beginning to settle in, the morning sunlight beginning to warm the room and help dry the paint. The nursery was looking… good actually; things were looking up.
And for the first time since she'd come home, she could breathe once more.
That feeling lasting as she got ready for work an hour later, she couldn't help but think in the back of her mind that House was right in one respect: she really was deranged. An extra bounce in her step as she walked along the hospital hallways, earnest smiles toward all of her staff regardless of what they were doing – she was peppy and chipper. So much so that not even her assistant losing a check from a very generous donor could keep her down. So fulfilled thanks to Joy, Cuddy didn't care about the screw ups anymore, just as she didn't mind forgiving Becca for making the decision to have the C-section.
Thanks to the precious girl currently sleeping off a milk-induced haze in the NICU, Cuddy was… deliriously happy and more than willing to overlook what Becca had done. And so when the young woman who had given her the most amazing gift imaginable wanted to speak to her, Cuddy had mindlessly said yes.
Years later, this was what she would remember more than anything – how, in barely a day's time, Joy had blinded her to all of the dangers and dilemmas that lay ahead. Years later, Cuddy would remember sitting on Becca's bed, would remember the way the young woman had apologized to her for nearly killing Joy.
Cuddy would remember the way happiness had spread through her body when Becca had described seeing mother and daughter together. "When I saw you hold her… and the look on your face…"
Smiling into the flesh of her fingers, Cuddy didn't need to imagine what it was the other woman had seen. Because whatever Becca had seen… it couldn't have possibly accurately reflected the well of emotions Cuddy had felt the first time she held Joy. Holding her daughter, feeling her own love and dedication radiate from within her, Cuddy had never been that fulfilled, that content.
Her life spent actively avoiding feelings of motherhood, or conversely desperately trying to find them, she hadn't ever believed it would come naturally to her. Even as the adoption was being approved, Cuddy had wondered, in the back of her mind, how well she would take to this.
But holding Joy in her arms for the first time…
There was no question in her mind now.
There was no doubt that she could do this.
And Becca, the woman who had no reason to appreciate the moment, seemed to have, because she agreed, "It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
Truth be told, as horrible as it was to think it, Cuddy's initial reaction was to contemplate calling House in here. Because, once forced to listen to what Becca was saying, forced to see that people could be selfless and good, maybe he would stop with this childish nonsense.
Maybe he would see that Cuddy was going to do this.
But knowing him, she figured he would find some awful way to discount the evidence. And frankly, she had no desire to deal with that – or him right now. Because despite the pain Becca was obviously in, Cuddy couldn't help but be blissful listening to the other woman recognize the rightness of this adoption.
The memory of holding her daughter for the first time so powerfully playing before Cuddy's eyes, she had no desire to ruin the moment by finding House.
But as it turned out, however, he didn't need to be in the room for that to happen. Becca's eyes cast down sadly, she said, "And that's when I realized… I can't."
The non sequitur not fully penetrating her mind, Cuddy waited for the woman to finish. Eagerly waited for her to complete the thought that probably ran along the lines of, "I can't… provide the home you can" or "I can't… be the mother she deserves."
But unsure of what was precisely being said, Cuddy instinctively waited for the rest of the sentence.
It never came.
And that was when she realized, it wouldn't.
Her right eyebrow twitching on its own volition, the happiness beginning to drain out of her face, she could feel something she couldn't quite name begin to claw inside of her. Not precisely a fear or a realization, it was something that was making her stomach turn and lips part. Cautiously, Cuddy said, "Becca."
There was a pregnant pause filled with apprehension and disbelief before Becca explained, "My life has always been about pain and anger and disappointment." She shook her head as though willing away bad memories and experiences. "Never about love and…"
Cuddy's hand pulling away from her mouth, her fingers paused in midair.
She knew what was going to come.
She knew what Becca was going to say even before the words had escaped her petite mouth, and Cuddy could only sit there in horror.
She could only wait for it to happen.
"That's when I realized, you know, it could be," Becca explained. "And I can't give that away."
Her words hit Cuddy hard in the gut, each syllable making her stomach twist and turn painfully with realization. She wasn't going to get the –
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
She shook her head over and over. This wasn't happening; this wasn't going to happen. "Becca, don't do this."
But the other woman only exhaled a rough breath and looked down toward her hands. Her mouth remaining tightly closed, it was impossible to miss the meaning of her body language: she wasn't going to change her mind.
And feeling as though she had been slapped, Cuddy quickly scrambled to get up off of the bed. Her mouth open in shock, in disgust, she thought she might throw up, as she desperately clawed for a way out of this nightmare. A trembling hand covering the side of her face, she could feel her future slipping out of her grasp. Her daughter was escaping her grip in the same ease that the small cry slid past Cuddy's throat.
It needed to stop.
This needed to stop now.
Her mind suddenly blank, suddenly useless, Cuddy tried to find the words to get through to Becca. The only tools always readily available at her fingertips, she turned to the medicine. Turned to the one thing that was black and white and comfortable and right; she turned to reason if only to avoid the chaos threatening to consume her in this moment.
Spinning to face Becca once more, she explained, "What you're feeling's natural. But you're filled with hormones and emotions and fear and…" Her own emotion and fear audible in her tones, she struggled to find the words she needed to say. "You just can't make a huge decision like this," she said, smiling a smile that was devoid of any warmth or happiness; instead it was a forced one, one that she felt she had to give in order to keep Becca believing the lie that Cuddy really was this perfect woman. Quickly, she added, "You have to give it some time."
Nodding her head, she thought it made perfect sense. Give it time, and eventually Becca would realize that the adoption was right.
But she wasn't interested. "I'm… I'm so sorry," Becca said in the voice that said she wasn't that sorry or contrite at all, as she shook her head.
And Cuddy knew rationally that she should have given up then. Nodding her head and frowning, she understood that Becca wasn't going to back away from this. But the memory of holding her daughter still playing in her mind, Cuddy clutched to her own maternity tightly.
Tearing up, she blinked slowly, swallowing hard to protect herself from becoming too emotional. She needed a reason, needed the words, needed… to say the one thing that would convince Becca.
But, damn it, nothing was coming. Nothing in her head seemed good enough to say.
Grasping at straws, she finally offered the same warning House had given her, "It's a decision that changes everything. Changes the rest of your life."
But when Becca spoke, her response was the same Cuddy's had been. "I hope so." The answer said with a similar determination Cuddy herself had offered, she knew it was over.
Her eyes blurry with tears, she stumbled out of the room. Her feet awkwardly moving in her heels, she lacked all grace on the uneven terrain created only when your world was disintegrating around you.
And Cuddy thought then that she knew what it meant to truly be broken by something. The failed IVF, the miscarriage – none of it could compare to this, to the tortuous realization that House was right.
Motherhood for her had been temporary.
She'd been given an agonizingly perfect twenty-four hour glimpse into what the life she wished for would be like. But now…
The dream was over.
Joy was no longer hers.
And as far as Cuddy could see, there would never be any joy for her again.
XVI. Eighteen Years Old
She was in denial that this day was even happening.
Yes, Cuddy had packed the car herself. Yes, she had been the one to drive them into New York. And yes, she'd also helped her daughter unpack and put her things away in her dorm room. But she had yet to accept that Joy was actually old enough to be starting college… or that she was old enough to move out.
And frankly, Cuddy thought the longer she ignored that fact, the better it was for the both of them. Because if she thought about it for too long, she would be unable to stop herself from crying.
Which she would probably do anyway as soon as she got in the car and left Joy behind, she realized. So really, this, she supposed, was little more than an exercise in futility. But given her daughter's shyness, her reticence about starting something new, Cuddy understood it was probably important to try to appear relaxed, supportive… happy.
None of those qualities found in her inherent reaction to this drastic change, she was finding herself forced to swallow many of her initial impressions. Like when she'd learned that there was no air conditioning in the dorm and the idiotic resident advisor had said that that was the best part about the dormitory; "the heat makes you lose weight," she'd explained in a conspiring voice to Joy. As though the eighteen year old who still had to buy her clothes in the children's department and had to actively work to maintain a good BMI needed to lose weight. The idea so stupid and so annoying, it had made Cuddy want to smack the stranger hard.
Of course the young woman wasn't the only vapid person on campus… unfortunately. Nor was she the only one who had the capabilities of wearing down Cuddy's happy veneer.
Joy's would-be roommate had been just as terrible.
Now, granted, there was a menorah on the girl's side of the room, which Joy, who had somehow become the best-behaved Jew Cuddy had ever known, would obviously appreciate. But…obviously the stranger had no appreciation for their collective religion; instead of candles, the young woman had placed incense sticks. And where the Star of David was, she'd covered it with the sticker of a pot leaf.
Which was wonderful enough, but that had been nothing compared to the girl's first words to both Cuddy and Joy. "I'd hug you, because we're gonna be roomies and all. But I just got my nips pierced, so," she'd drawled out listlessly. "Well, you know… not big on hugging just yet."
That moment still playing in her mind, Cuddy could barely eat the salad in front of her. Too conflicted about letting Joy go and experience life on her own and dragging her back home out of fear, she could hardly think about eating.
As if to provide the perfect contrast, Joy was happily chewing on the jalapeno, bacon, and onion cheeseburger-monstrosity that she'd ordered. Toppings peaking out of the sandwich every which way, it was literally one ingredient after another that made Cuddy's stomach acid splash about painfully. But the blonde didn't seem to mind, not even after Cuddy had warned her about the cholesterol content of the dish.
Watching Joy delicately tear off another bite of the burger and gingerly chew it, Cuddy was completely unprepared when her daughter said, "Dr. House was right; this is a great place to eat."
House.
These days there was no other person, no other word that could rouse so many conflicting emotions in Cuddy. As complex as things had been before Joy and for the first decade or so of her life, they were much more difficult now.
After the summer Joy had been admitted to the hospital, they had… fallen apart in a way that Cuddy hadn't expected. She couldn't, nor would she, deny that her relationship with House had always been tenuous at best. There had always been a fight lurking around the corner; there had always been tension and anger mixed with affection. There had always been weeks where they would avoid and dismiss and deny followed by weeks of meddling and acceptance and sometimes even agreement. And she had assumed that the fight they'd had while Joy was in the hospital had fallen into the normal guidelines of their relationship.
But for reasons she didn't understand, it hadn't.
And while there had been a brief reprieve when House's mother and Wilson had died within months of one another, things hadn't gone back to the way they were before Joy absconded to Chicago.
Which, for the life of her, Cuddy couldn't understand. They'd fought in the hospital, but they had said – and done – worse things to one another before that. And it couldn't have been the act of Joy lying itself, because House and Joy were practically best friends these days.
Much to Cuddy's dismay.
She didn't know what exactly had happened between the two to make them want to be around one another. But potentially blinded by her own jealousy, Cuddy could only see the bad reasons, the wrong sort of motivation that would break her daughter's heart. As much as Cuddy might like to believe that House cared about Joy, she couldn't. He'd resented her daughter's presence for so long that it seemed impossible to believe that he could suddenly change. Because…
House didn't change.
Ever.
And if he were the same manipulative, selfish asshole that he always was, then it could only mean that he was using Joy to get to her.
Her suspicions routinely ignored by her daughter, Cuddy sighed and looked down at her watery spinach salad. "Right," she said with dismay. "Dr. House recommended this restaurant so –"
"Mom," Joy warned half-heartedly, setting her cheeseburger down on top of the bed of French fries waiting for her. "I told him where I was going to school. He told me that I would probably like the burgers here, and I thought the food sounded good. So I suggested it to you." Picking up her cheeseburger once more, she quietly accused, "It's not complicated, and you're making it sound like… he and I are planning on kidnapping the Lindberg baby together or that I'm in love with him."
Cuddy let out a soft "Huh." Tentatively poaching a pear onto the end of her fork, she couldn't help but feel like an idiot. She'd never imagined that there would be anything sexual between House and her daughter; she trusted him that much still.
But, if Joy were in love with him, Cuddy wondered if she could trust House enough not to manipulate her daughter and to use her to get to Cuddy herself. Thinking about it briefly, she wasn't sure that she could.
Lazily moving the pear around the plate, she timidly looked up and asked, "Are, are you… in love with him?"
Joy hastily swallowed the bite of food in her mouth. Holding up a hand, she couldn't help but ask, "Are we seriously having this conversation?" When Cuddy looked away in response, she exclaimed, "Oh my God, no. Are you senile?"
Clearing her throat, Cuddy warned in a maternal tone, "Don't be rude to me."
Joy's next words uttered much more calmly, she reassured, "I'm not in love with Dr. House. But even if I were, nothing would happen, because the whole mother-daughter thing? There are some levels of perversion that even he won't stoop to – or so I'm told," she joked.
It did nothing to allay Cuddy's fears. "Uh huh."
"Look, I may love Dr. House, but –"
"You love House?" Cuddy repeated, her voice tightening in realization. This was worse than anything she'd imagined.
Joy groaned. "You two clearly belong together," she offered darkly, seriously. "Because you both are so clueless." She sounded more frustrated than angry, but nevertheless, Cuddy was sure it was the most furious Joy had ever been with her. As if to prove the point, the teenager angrily bunched her napkin together with her fingers. "I've known him my entire life, and in that time, I've seen him… a lot, maybe not on a daily basis, but as good as. I saw him more than Nana and everyone else in our family, that's for sure."
Cuddy shook her head. "You've seen a lot of people more than them. Dr. Wilson and Dr. Kutner, for example – are you saying that you love them –"
"Mommy, don't act like this isn't different," Joy stressed. "I know I saw them a lot too. But they weren't around in the same way Dr. House was. I only ever saw them in the hospital, except for a few times. None of them slept with my mother for years. They weren't at the house all the time, and when they were, it was always to deal with you and leave. They were always… your friends. They weren't mine," she told her quietly.
"House isn't your friend," Cuddy replied instantly.
As soon as the words had escaped her, she could hear how cold they were, how callous they were. And while she didn't regret saying what she knew to probably be the truth, Cuddy couldn't help but wish that she'd found a better a way to put it.
Joy pushed her plate of food away. "I know that he didn't really like me when I was a kid. I haven't forgotten what that was like, and you don't need to tell me that he can act like –"
"A child? An asshole?" Cuddy offered. "A selfish –"
"Yes, I know," she interrupted irritably. "He has… many issues. But you of all people should know by now that he's not… incapable of love."
Cuddy's eyes narrowed on her daughter. "So now… he loves you too?" she asked cautiously, filling in the lines.
Joy's brown eyes narrowing on her, she snapped, "Mommy, stop it. He does love me, and I kind of think you would agree with me when I say that if you weren't so caught up in being mad at him for being mad at you," she said knowingly.
Shaking her head, Cuddy start to deny it. "That's not –"
"True? Of course it is. You may rationalize it as something else, but we both know…" She was not trying to be mean, wasn't trying to sound that way, but Cuddy was sure that in Joy's head, that was exactly how it sounded. The blonde looked down at her plate before saying, "I'm sorry. I'm not – I'm sorry," she repeated. "I shouldn't pretend to know what's going on between the two of you. But then… I don't think you can really say you know what it's like between Dr. House and me either."
"Sweetheart," Cuddy told her seriously. "I've known you your entire life, and I've known House for most of his. I think –"
"And Dr. House and I have known each other for eighteen years," Joy pointed out irritably. "It might not have always been perfect; he might have only been interested in seeing you, but it's still eighteen years, Mommy. And whether you like or not, whether you intended it or not, he's somebody I care about. He's the closest thing I've ever had to a dad, and I'm not going to give that up, because it bothers you to know he and I can do things without you." With a graveness to her voice, Joy told her, "I can't suddenly pretend that he doesn't matter to me simply because you two are fighting. I won't."
A fierceness in her daughter's words that she'd never heard before, Cuddy couldn't help but think she'd missed something.
Just how close was House to Joy if she were willing to be this passionate about his presence in her life?
The question one she had no answer for, Cuddy could only believe that just maybe she'd underestimated the size of House's role in their lives.
XVII. Eighteen, nineteen, something like that
Considering he now spent most of his time at Cuddy's, it had been with luck that he'd gotten Joy's phone call at all. He'd only come back to the apartment to pick up a suit and tie for the libel suit hearing that the hospital's lawyer had insisted would go away. Would go away if House kept his mouth shut, anyway. And although Cuddy had bought him a new suit and tie, he'd rejected it on the grounds that he wasn't a doll for her to dress.
The spat reminding them once more that things between them would never be perfect, it had also been proof that they were doing the right thing by not telling Joy they were essentially living together.
The issue wasn't – and had never been – that Joy was opposed to this hellish union. Honestly, she, more so than anyone else, would have approved of the idea. While Cuddy and House both refused to broach the subject for any length of time, Joy had no problem talking about the relationship. After all, it had been Joy who had ruined many a game of bowling by casually mentioning the date her mother was on. It had been Joy who had agreed to keep tabs on Cuddy – although the twenty-dollar-an-hour fee had made House rethink the whole agreement. And it had been Joy who had said whatever the hell it was that she'd said when Cuddy had taken her to school that had the brunette banging on his door in apology the second she returned from New York.
No, the problem wasn't that Joy would be opposed. Really, despite the gagging noises she'd made upon discovering House and her mother making out during Hanukkah, the pipsqueak seemed… happy that they were together once more. And although House and Cuddy hadn't talked about it, they both knew she would be upset if things didn't work out this time. Especially since they'd begun to take this extra step together by making his apartment something he rarely visited.
Of course House was now sure that their protectiveness didn't matter; the phone call he shouldn't have gotten but had anyway had been short. Her voice soft and nervous, she'd sounded like she was in tears. Which didn't set off any alarm bells in his head, to be honest. Because for the last several months now, Joy had been unhappy overall. The management major she'd chosen for herself out of practicality and not any real interest in the subject, House wasn't surprised that she hated it.
Nor should she have been surprised that, when she did call him, he always suggested dropping out. As wrong as he knew it was, he was serious when he told her to drop out and come home. Because ever since she'd said, "I love you," he hadn't been able to ignore her completely.
Despite knowing that she would be way better off without him, House hadn't been able to push her away. She'd ask him to do something, and he'd respond with a bitter, sarcastic comment, but then he'd find himself doing what she wanted anyway. For whatever reason, Joy had somehow managed to manipulate him, pull him in close, and when Wilson had died, House had found himself drawing her closer.
Which meant that Cuddy had accused him of using her daughter as a Wilson substitute. And part of him hadn't denied that that was true. He liked to bowl with the kid, liked to steal food from her, and on occasion, when it was early enough, he'd call her to drive him home when he was drunk. And just like Wilson, she enjoyed the first, tolerated the second, and just barely accepted the last.
But what Cuddy hadn't realized at the time was that House understood that Joy wasn't his dead best friend. He had no problem accepting that fact, save for the few instances the brat had decided to punish him for the drunken phone calls; when she'd told the bartender that she was here to pick up her daddy (she'd actually used the demonic term) who had an unfortunate drinking problem, yeah, House had wished Wilson were still alive.
He'd take a lecture over someone claiming to be his progeny any day of the week.
But now with Joy at school… House had been thinking, on a regular basis no less, that he'd almost rather be called daddy every day of the week than be alone.
Almost.
It was a pathetic thought, he realized. Especially considering he now had Cuddy back in his life, it should have been a thought that he didn't even have. But nevertheless… he couldn't help but want the other Cuddy back as well. If only because she'd been such a staple for almost two decades, she shouldn't have been allowed to leave, he reasoned.
So when she'd practically begged him with tears in her voice, "Can you come get me? I'm at the train station," he'd instantly agreed.
In the back of his mind, House tried to tell himself that he didn't actually miss Joy. He just wasn't used to walking around the hospital without the ankle biter nipping at his heels.
That was all it was.
But his spirits betrayed him by lifting abruptly as he got into his car. And no matter how many times he tried to convince himself that this actually was an inconvenience and a pain, he couldn't be miserable… shockingly enough.
Not that it mattered in the end; the uncharacteristic feeling short-lived, it was one promptly dashed the moment he saw her.
She looked like hell, and considering he was used to waking up next to Cuddy, that was saying a lot.
Joy stood by the outdoor ticket counter, her back pressed tightly against the brick building. She was shaking, probably from the cold wind she had no protection from. The black tights she was wearing had long runs in them, her pale skin peaking out every now and then. And over the right knee, there was absolutely no elastic material left, the bared flesh lightly skinned from what his aged eyes could tell.
The hot pink dress she wore wasn't much better. Sleeveless and askew, it did nothing to keep her warm either. A bizarre desire to take off his coat and hand it to her arising from nowhere, House promptly stuffed his hands in his pockets and pushed the feeling aside.
That was the kind of act pimply teenager boys did on the first date when they were still trying to get into the girl's pants, which he definitely wasn't, and the sort of thing concerned fathers did. And the only time he was ever "Daddy" was when he was drunk out of his mind and Joy was feeling cruel, and considering he was sober (soberish anyway) and she just looked lost, he wasn't "Daddy" right now.
So the coat stayed where it was, on his body.
Which was the opposite of what her blond curls were doing. Looking at her from the shortening distance, he could see that there had been, at one point anyway, two small plaits running along the sides of her head. But now the long waves had begun to rebel, strands falling out of the once neatly tucked braids.
And all of that – the tights, the dress, and the hair – could have been the result of a lengthy train ride, House supposed. Even the lipstick smeared onto her face and the mascara blurred deeply underneath her eyes could be explained by that, he thought as he stopped in front of her.
The abnormally dilated pupils and extra twitch in her hands did not fit quite so neatly into his theory, he realized. And the complete lack of luggage with her only made him more curious, as well as more annoyed at the mystery presenting itself to him. Scowling at her, House announced his presence by saying, "You look like Piglet on meth."
Her body jumping in surprise, she looked up at him with wide eyes. Nervously rubbing her nose with the back of her hand, she didn't deny it right away. And he knew immediately that something was wrong. Because nervous ticks and disheveled appearance aside, if Joy were okay, she would have already made a retort or a denial or more than likely both. But instead, she was slow – agonizingly slow – to respond with a meek "I'm not high."
The "on meth anyway" went unspoken, but he heard it loud and clear nonetheless. And not entirely in the mood for a game, he testily asked, "What are you on then? The look, while interesting, hardly speaks to sober living." As an afterthought, House added, "I should know."
But if he was hoping for an honest answer from her, he was sure he didn't get it when she said, "I… nothing. I don't know."
Frowning, he guided Joy by the elbow to his car (it was too cold for the bike). "Obviously, you're on something," he noted.
She shrugged, softly admitted, "I took something, but I don't remember what –"
"You're a terrible liar, you liar," he told her irritably. "First you're not high. Now you are. Then you say you don't remember what you took, but I'm thinking in ten minutes that part of the story will change to." He tried to keep the anger out of his tones, tried to tell himself that he wasn't even angry. But frankly, it was late and cold, and his leg hurt, and he wished Joy would just spit out what had happened, so his mind would stop picking at the puzzle and he could go home and sleep.
But she didn't elaborate or offer any more words until they'd driven out of the parking lot. That was when she lamely defended with no conviction in the tones, "It wasn't my idea." She'd curled up in the passenger seat, her knees drawn close to her chest. And her chin resting on top of the knobby joints, her voice had been muffled.
His own response was clearer. "Yeah, well, the Vicodin wasn't my idea either, but…"
"My roommate said she was going to a seder at her boyfriend's house," she intoned listlessly. Her voice was quiet enough that he could barely hear her over the noisy wind battering his car. "We don't really have anything in common except being Jews… But I thought she was being friendly when she invited me, so I said yes."
Her gaze was on her hands, making it impossible for him to tell if she were lying. His own pair of eyes looking over to see what she was looking at, he noticed a few of her fingernails had been broken. "Well, I remember the part of the story about killing the first-born sons," he drawled out slowly. "Pretty sure there's no footnote about sole-born daughters losing their nails. So I'm guessing there's more to this fascinating tale."
She tucked her fingers underneath her palms. "There were a bunch of people. Someone had replaced everything on the seder plate. The karpas ended up being… pot." She sighed, a watery smile appearing on her lips.
"If your mother celebrated Passover that way," House admitted, "I might be more interested."
She didn't react to the joke.
Her gaze still not on him, Joy explained, "They replaced the maror with different kinds of pills. I don't know what most of them were. And I don't know who brought them. A couple people must have," she said in dim recognition, although she didn't explain how she'd come to that conclusion.
Nor did House really need or want an explanation; he was beginning to see where this story was going, and he didn't like it.
"We had to pick a couple, take them, you know?" She sniffled loudly. "While everyone else was going, I was thinking… I should leave. I shouldn't do this." Her voice was tight with emotion, with regret, the words falling from her lips in uneven tones.
"Yes, but the possibility of an overdose or fatal drug interaction just sounded too enticing, right?" he asked unrelentingly. The statement more damning than she deserved and definitely more hypocritical than he would have liked, it was one that caused a pang of guilt to flow through him.
And apparently through Joy as well. Her petite body turning away from him, it was only through her reflection in the passenger side window that he could see the guilt in her eyes. "I wasn't trying to kill myself before," she slowly admitted.
But that did little to answer any of the questions in his head. What the hell had happened tonight? What marked the before, during, and after she was now alluding to? And why had she called him and not her mother? Why hadn't she called Cuddy, the person who would absolutely be sympathetic and kind and not at all annoyed by a story told to her piecemeal?
"I was going to go back to the dorm," Joy told him quietly. "But then… I thought about what Mommy's been saying, you know? About how I should make more of an effort to make friends and join things."
He nodded his head. His voice sarcastic, he agreed, "Makes perfect sense. Setting aside that pesky little fact that I really doubt she wanted you to get high, you should definitely take Mommy's advice since she's always been oh so popular."
At that point, he almost expected her to remind him of all the times he'd seriously tried to pawn liquor off onto her by joking it would make her cooler.
But she didn't.
Instead Joy blinked erratically and told him, "I thought that I could just… I don't know. Some of the pills looked familiar," she said with a shrug. "I thought I could take the ones that didn't look bad. I thought…" Her voice trailed off as though she was beginning to recognize just how stupid and naïve her plan had been.
Which House liked, frankly, because it meant that he didn't have to spend the next five minutes showing her all the ways her logic failed. A lecture he had no desire to give receding into the back off his mind, he stayed focused on driving and the prospect of what Cuddy would say when she learned about this.
But if he thought, even for a brief moment, that they'd reached the end of the story, he was wrong. "When it was my turn," she mentioned in a low voice. "I grabbed two pills. They looked like Amoxicillin, and I knew that wouldn't hurt me. I had them as a… as a kid." A hint of panic was inexplicably creeping into her tones, creating little ripples of worry within himself.
Barely paying attention to the turn he was making, House focused on what she said next. "This was different though."
"How?"
Shifting uncomfortably on her seat, Joy finally turned and looked at him. She shrugged. "I don't know. I was okay at first, and then I felt like, like, dizzy and… my heart…" She shook her head. "It was, like, pounding, and I thought 'I'm having a heart attack,' which is stupid, I know."
But of course, he knew it wasn't stupid for her to think that. Because there weren't many drugs that had the same red and yellow appearance of Amoxicillin. And the ones that did weren't meant for healthy young women to take with weed, presumably ceremonial wine, and who knew what else. Lescol and Dantrium, among others – they all had their nasty side effects, and she was lucky, he thought, to have suffered so little from such a stupid act.
One of her fingers tracing the outline of her scabbed knee, Joy interrupted his thoughts. "I got up to get some fresh air, and someone helped me onto the balcony," she told him, her voice somehow both filled with and devoid of emotion. Each word uttered as though she'd already thought of the story in her head, it all sounded as though she were trying to distance herself from the act, as though she were trying to convince herself that she was little more than a storyteller.
"I thought he was being nice," she said in a daze. "I thought…" Her voice trailed off once more, her breath hitching in her throat.
And, trying to avoid thinking where this was headed, House instead asked himself why she was doing this. If this were so difficult for her (and it definitely seemed that way), why was she sharing this? Why was she telling him anything at all?
The traitorous answer popping into his head immediately, House understood that really… she had no choice. Because if she'd called him and gotten into his car without a word, he would have badgered her for the truth until he got it. He would have roughly seized the puzzle right in front of him and mercilessly twisted and turned each piece until they gave him a picture of the evening's events that made sense to his mind.
He would have forced the truth out of her, no matter how painful it might have been.
And he would have done the same – or worse – if she'd called Cuddy. Because not only would he be searching for the answer, but at some point, Cuddy would try to protect Joy from him, from his quest. Which would only strain their already strained relationship more. In that case, he would have forced the truth from Joy and damned Cuddy, just as he had before.
And he would have done it without a second thought.
And Joy knew that, it seemed, which meant she really had no choice but to tell him what was going on. Although, he conceded, by offering up the information herself, on her own terms, it was probably easier for her – and smarter in the long run, because she got to cherry pick the details.
Disdainfully she repeated, "I thought he was being nice. But…" A sob escaped her trembling lips, and he could sense in the pit of his stomach what was coming next. Could feel the admission waiting to escape as she said, "But I don't think that anymore."
She started to cry milliseconds later. Not the kinds of tears he was used to – the ones shed for dead pigeons and sick boyfriends and mangled lies unraveling; no, these, he realized, were horrifically different. These cries were loud, sounded as though they were being wrenched painfully from her body.
These were bad… a sign of something bad.
There was something guttural and piercing to the sound, something in her sobs that made his own heart ping in realization. The noise suddenly echoing inside of himself, as well as the car, he didn't need her to say the rest. A million horrible images flashing before him, he could now painfully see what had happened. The details were unknown to him, but…
He knew.
All of the pieces fitting neatly together into a single explanation, he could see what she was hiding, could tell what had happened:
Joy had been raped.
Part of him didn't want to believe it, wanted to think that he was making a completely unsupported conclusion.
But… a slave to the truth, to reason, House couldn't, despite truly wanting to, give into the denial trying to hold him in its grasp.
He couldn't do it.
And neither could Joy. Tears sliding down her softly curved cheeks, she didn't bother to wipe them away. Focused on finishing the tale he no longer had any interest in hearing, she told him regretfully, "I wanted to go back inside, but… he wouldn't let me."
His gaze abruptly turning to look at her, he began to say, "Joy, you don't –"
"I should have fought him off," she cried, the regret mingling with the already painfully thick air. "I tried – I really did, but I was stupid and…" She sniffled loudly, her broken fingertips nervously scratching at her cheek. "He had a knife, and so I…I let him…" She didn't finish the thought, shaking her head quickly, the tears falling quicker now. A dull edge to her voice, she finally lamented, "I didn't fight back."
And House could tell then that she was done. Her face buried into the ripped elastic of her tights, the thin material and her even tinier body did little to hide the anguished sounds she was making. Amongst her cries were the words "I'm sorry" being muttered, wailed, sobbed over and over, no amount of fabric and sinew able to silence her overwhelming sense of guilt.
Frozen, House had no idea what to say in response. Still too stunned by what was happening, he drove on in silence, too afraid that, if he paid any less attention to the road, they would crash.
In all honesty, he would have pulled over to the side of the road, had that been an option. But since the highway he was using currently had no shoulders, as the result of construction, he had to keep going. Hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles were white and his aging hands ached, he tried to maintain control over himself.
Because although Joy was wrong in thinking she owed him an apology, she wasn't wrong in thinking he was absolutely livid. Not with her, of course, but nonetheless, House could feel the desire to turn the car around, find the ass responsible, and kill him welling up inside of his own body. An instinct he hadn't ever thought possible threatening to claim him now, it was one that made him feel… odd, as though he were just beginning to realize the extent of his feelings for Joy.
It was an instinct he had no intention of giving into.
Rationally, House understood the libel suit was something he could get out of, but murder… he probably wouldn't be so lucky with that. And although conjugal visits with Cuddy did have a nice ring, he was sure she'd refuse to make the trek to prison on principle; after all, she might have been willing to forgive many of his faults, including murdering her daughter's… rapist (the word had such a potent tinge in his mind). But somehow House doubted she would be so quick to forgive him for leaving her obviously distraught child in the car while he beat the crap out of a kid less than half his age.
And that meant, whether he was comfortable doing it or not, he had to handle the situation at hand; in other words, he had to take care of Joy… comfort her, he supposed, even though he had no idea what to say or do. And not for the first time since he'd died, House wished Wilson were alive.
He would know what to say.
He would know what to do, and he'd make them all the best meal in the world while instructing them.
But as House didn't have the travel-sized Ouija board on him, he realized he would have to do this on his own; he would have to say something to… make her feel better?
No, he thought, that wasn't the way to put it even to himself. Because nothing he said could make Joy feel better, could make any of this right. Which meant, he supposed, that… he could say anything. If nothing was going to make her feel any better, then he might as well say whatever the hell wanted.
Sighing, he said lamely, loud enough so that she would hear him over her tears, "It's not your fault."
She sniffled and looked up. "But I –"
"You took pills. You bastardized a religious ceremony in a way that makes me wish I were young enough to participate," he told her, waving off her objection.
When she didn't say anything – didn't agree or negate what he was saying – House turned his head toward her and gave her a pointed look. "It was stupid," he said simply with no accusation or anger in his tones. "But… you're eighteen –"
"Nineteen," she corrected automatically.
"Whatever. The point is," he drawled out slowly, trying to be sympathetic. "You're young. You're supposed to do stupid things and… wake up with a hangover in the morning and the determination never to do it again. Or at least not do it again any time that week," he told her kindly. "You're nineteen; you're allowed to do dumb things without regret. This… isn't something you deserve or should have experienced."
But if he was trying to be convincing, it was immediately apparent that Joy wasn't convinced at all. Blonde locks whipping through the air as she shook her head, she pointed out dejectedly, "I didn't fight."
"People tend to get their way when they have knives," he told her blithely.
Rubbing her chin on her knees, Joy still wasn't ready to accept what he was saying. "You would have fought."
"Yeah," House replied with a nod. "But, in case you haven't noticed, kid, I get shot, sued, punched, and slapped a lot."
The joke hit home. A watery smile briefly flitting on her face, she couldn't help but chuckle once. The slight ease in the set of her shoulders fleeting, the temporary improvement in her mood didn't last.
Not that he honestly expected it to.
Sighing, House told her, "You made it out alive, which means… you were right. You made the right choice." A weight intentionally added to the words, he said, "You did the right thing."
But only then did he consider that perhaps being right wasn't nearly enough to ease her pain.
XVIII. Nineteen Years Old
Cuddy's arm, currently acting as a pillow for her daughter, was beyond asleep. Her hand tucked underneath her own head, she was half-convinced that, by now, the whole appendage had turned blue. The tingling she'd once felt now turning into a finite ache, it was almost enough to make her pull away from her sleeping child.
But not quite.
Because it had literally taken days to get Joy to sleep, and Cuddy wasn't interested in trading Joy's well being for feeling in her own arm. Because she knew that, at best, doing that was an unequal swap. The former's ramifications all the more difficult to deal with than tingling fingers, she stayed quiet, still, content to watch her daughter sleep.
She could do that much for Joy… if not much else, it seemed.
It had been three days.
Three days since Joy had come home, and everything had changed irreparably in a way Cuddy had never imagined or wanted.
God, that was an understatement, she thought.
Permanently gone were the naïve days of "Everything will be okay;" she couldn't say that now, couldn't see how they would ever be able to believe in that again. She couldn't console, couldn't be consoled by House. Three days had passed, and in that time, the only thing that seemed constant was the pain they were all in and the belief that nothing would ever go back to the way it was.
Or maybe that wasn't true; there were other things that seemed to permeate, poison each and every moment of the last seventy-two hours. There were tears, both the ones Joy shed and the ones Cuddy tried to hide from her by letting them fall in the shower or onto House's t-shirt when her daughter wasn't looking.
House, of course, did not cry. If he had, Cuddy wasn't sure how she would have responded, although the phrase, "shocked to death," came to mind. The lack of tears wasn't surprising, as a result of years of knowing that they wouldn't come.
Instead, he had remained… well, stoic wasn't the right word, she thought honestly.
Thanks to decades of screwing him and being screwed over by him (or some combination of that), she knew all too well when he was upset. Try as he might to hide it, there were always signs. In the way, when he looked at her, his bright blue eyes would fill with the anguish she felt to the core of her being, she could tell: he was hurting. The sudden increase in Vicodin and the now nightly walks up and down her hallway that would last for an hour, sometimes longer, were all signs as well… as were the bursts of anger aimed at her that came with it. And, although there were times when she hadn't seen his pain, or had denied it out of petty anger, it was impossible to miss it now; it was impossible not to see that this was affecting him.
Not that he would ever admit to it out loud.
Although, truth be told, given his recent liver function tests, Cuddy wished he would. If only for his health, she wished he would find some other way to deal with his feelings.
Not that she was stupid enough to say that out loud either.
Because he was stubborn, and no matter how much she might have wanted him to, House wasn't ever going to listen to her. And without any hope for change, Cuddy couldn't help but think that maybe it was for the best that he was so… private. After all, she didn't need to hear how any of this was affecting him. The tiny spats, the flashes of compassion were all proof that they were both intensely affected by what had happened. The edges of their relationship fraying and melding back together seamlessly, the brief instances of emotion between them were more than enough for her.
The way this whole thing made her feel in and of itself was already weighing heavily enough on her.
As was the knowledge that Joy wasn't going to do the rape kit.
In three days, if one thing had become apparent, it was this: that no matter how much they told her she should, Joy wasn't going to budge.
And that fact hadn't been the result of a lack of effort on their part
Cuddy, and House had done this as well, had offered to Joy every possible reason to get the kit done. They had told her it was important to make sure that she was physically all right; it hadn't worked. Not even when Cuddy had caught House trying to scare the hell out of Joy with talk of STDs, HIV, and pregnancy had that changed Joy's mind. Although it definitely did make Cuddy consider whether or not she should leave him alone with her daughter.
But that tense moment aside, for the most part, Cuddy and House had tried to work together, had tried to find a way to convince Joy that this was in her best interest.
They had said that, although she didn't want to talk to the police now, she might change her mind in a week and so it was important to do the rape kit now. But that hadn't worked either, the blonde saying with determination that she would never want to talk to the cops. And considering her mind hadn't changed when Cuddy mentioned other women possibly being put in the exact same situation, it wasn't hard to believe Joy when she said that.
However, that did not necessarily make it easy for Cuddy to give up. Because while she could believe that Joy didn't want to do it, part of Cuddy still hoped that she would change her mind. As silly as it was, part of her desperately wanted to believe that she would wake up the next morning and Joy would come to her and agree that she needed to do this. Because…
It was easier to believe that than to believe she had failed.
But now, with a rape kit inadmissible in court even if Joy did do it, Cuddy was forced to accept that she had.
She had failed.
Two doctors in the house, but they were still unable to convince Joy to do a relatively simple, if uncomfortable, set of procedures.
Sighing Cuddy glanced down at her sleeping daughter. Their bodies were mirroring one another, both on their side with Joy's head nestled into Cuddy's chest. Blonde strands tenderly tucked behind her daughter's ear with Cuddy's maternal hand, it was easy to get lost in Joy's beautiful, petite features.
Years ago, when Joy was truly little, Cuddy had had the time and luxury of memorizing each and every nuance of her face. The long nights created by a teething toddler too miserable to sleep had allowed for that then. But this was the first time in a very long time that Cuddy had the chance to do it once more.
Looking at her now, she could easily see that they weren't anything alike. It had always been something that Cuddy had noticed, though never bitterly so; she'd never wished for the thin veneer of a similar resemblance and in a way preferred cataloging the differences between then. Because, really, she asked herself, how could she ever wish for her daughter to look different when Joy was so beautiful?
Biased or not, Cuddy knew Joy really was gorgeous. Instead of dark locks that permanently threatened into a frizzy mess like she herself had, her daughter had glorious, thick, blonde curls. So pale a color, it was on the verge of looking unnatural, the shade brilliant and stunning. And even now, the waves looked well kempt, every strand neatly curled and away from her face. Which was a far cry from the state of Cuddy's own hair at the moment, which had earned a comparison to Medusa from House only hours earlier.
Needless to say, she'd barely resisted the urge to pick a fight with him then.
And it wasn't just the hair; in every way, Joy was softer, more delicate. She was so tiny for a nineteen-year-old young woman. It was odd, because Cuddy had never considered herself to be big, but compared to Joy… she was. As all of her daughter's pajamas were in New York, Joy had had to change into a set of Cuddy's. And although Cuddy was petite, Joy was practically swimming in the off white pants and black sweater she was currently wearing; her small body was lost in all of the fabric. And at the moment, that worked out perfectly, because Joy was clutching part of one of the long sleeves to her face as though it were a security blanket.
She looked like such a little girl.
Her nose and mouth were tinier as well, making her perpetually look as though she were about seven years old. And aiding that youthful appearance were her dark eyes. Rounder and bigger than the ones Cuddy remembered Becca having, Joy didn't just look young but innocent as well.
Which… she was.
She was a sweet and innocent little girl.
She'd had one boyfriend in her life, the same boy who had died almost three years ago in Chicago. Beyond that, she'd been too shy, and maybe a little guilt ridden, to date. And it was probably not too much of an exaggeration to say that the most exposure she'd had to anything elicit or involving sex came from House and Cuddy themselves.
Unfortunately.
At least, there was no question in her mind where Joy might have gotten the idea that popping a bunch of pills was okay.
The thought bitter even in her own head, Cuddy couldn't help but let out a frustrated groan then. The noise caused Joy to stir next to her, and Cuddy stilled immediately, hoping that her daughter would simply go back to sleep.
Practically holding her breath, Cuddy tried to tell herself that it wasn't that she blamed House for anything that had happened; it wasn't his fault that Joy had gone to this party, much less been… attacked. She knew that much. But…
She couldn't help but feel that they were so messed up as parents – or at least she was, she quickly mentally corrected. House had never agreed to take on the role he had in Joy's life.
But Cuddy had. And part of her could only wonder what bizarre twist of fate had allowed Joy to grow up in her home.
What had Becca seen in Cuddy that made her think Joy would be better off here?
The question teased the synapses of her mind not for the first time in nineteen years. Whenever she screwed up, Cuddy found herself wondering the same thing. Why had she been given this amazing human being to care for when she herself realized she was anything but deserving of that privilege?
But, just as it had been for nearly the last two decades, the question had no answer that Cuddy could see. For all of her attempts to understand Becca's motivation, she didn't. She never had, but then Cuddy supposed that she had never really understood the woman who had given Joy life.
They had only spent a few days together, consequently never speaking to one another again, but even in that short time… Cuddy couldn't help but find Becca to be so… different from herself. The blonde hadn't been particularly smart, hadn't held the same intellectual clout that someone like House did when he entered a room. She had been nervous and young and naïve, and Cuddy didn't think she herself had been any of those things at the time. Because while she'd worried Becca would change her mind, the then-soon-to-be mother had known, in her bones, that this was the right thing.
Somehow, as odd as Cuddy believed it was now, she had known the child growing inside of the much younger woman was her own. And there had been reassurance in that knowledge, a comfort in it, even if part of her was terrified by it.
But now Cuddy couldn't help but wonder if…
If someone else had raised Joy, if someone else hadn't pushed her to be Jewish or let her hang out with a drug addict – if someone else had been a better parent, would any of this have happened?
Would everything have been different? Was her daughter… destined to be raped?
Or had Cuddy's choices, Cuddy's own desperate longing for a child, made this happen?
The answer to that question was not surprisingly lost to her. By now, when it came to whether or not she was doing the right thing for Joy, the mother had come to expect more questions than answers, more doubt than confidence.
"Mom?" Dark lashes lazily parting, her voice husky with sleep, Joy was obviously waking up, her mind slowly drifting into consciousness.
But glancing at the clock on the nightstand, Cuddy quickly figured out that they'd only been in bed for maybe four hours. And considering how long it had taken for Joy to settle down and to finally succumb to exhaustion, she must have been only asleep for two hours maximum. Which might have been an acceptable amount if she were only taking a nap or had kept regular hours previous to this night.
But she hadn't.
And it had taken so long to fully understand why. At first, Cuddy had surmised the sudden insomnia was the result of the medication she'd taken. Looking back at it now, she could easily see how stupid an idea that had been, how foolish it had been to believe that over a more obvious explanation.
Those theories, of course, did eventually come, courtesy of House, who, after calling her an idiot and popping a Vicodin, hadn't been able to resist offering his own explanations. He'd introduced his own theories by saying, "If a lifetime of watching Lifetime has taught me anything…"
And then he had suggested a fear of the dark or closing her eyes, citing a handful of television movies and soap opera storylines. And needless to say, she hadn't been impressed. Although she'd supposed there could be some truth in what he was saying, her response had been much more cynical. "Based on that reasoning," she'd pointed out, "It's also possible that Joy's been possessed by the devil, the next-door neighbor is a witch, and you have a good twin out there somewhere."
They'd shared smirks at the time, but in the end, his own theories had been much closer to the truth than Cuddy's own. No, it wasn't the dark, or the idea of closing her eyes, that bothered the teenager. Instead, as she'd confided to Cuddy eventually, it was the process of falling asleep itself that terrified her.
It was that feeling, she'd explained, a person had when they were so aware of their own exhaustion; they could feel themselves falling asleep, could feel their responses diminishing, their consciousness slipping, and their rate of breathing slowing. And paradoxically, it was that lack of sleep that was making Joy painfully aware of that process each and every time Cuddy had convinced her to lay down.
It was that process that Joy fought, because… it made her feel high.
It made her feel the way she had that night.
So she avoided it as best as she could, refusing to feel that way again.
Not that it mattered. In the end, her body's own needs had won out. But Cuddy had no doubt that they'd be repeating this self-induced sleep deprivation for weeks… maybe months or years to come if things didn't miraculously improve.
And that meant they had to make the most of the sleep Joy did get.
Her daughter still on the cusp of slumber, Cuddy stroked her cheek with the back of her hand. "Shh," she hushed maternally. "I'm here. Go back to sleep."
Joy shook her head lazily, a whimper getting caught in the back of her throat. "Mommy, I –"
"Shh," she repeated gently. The hand not tucked under her head slid across Joy's back. Gently moving her palm around in circles, Cuddy told her, "Just sleep. That's all you have to do right now. Just sleep, sweetheart."
By the time Cuddy's lips made it to Joy's warm forehead, the teenager had fallen back to sleep.
And holding her daughter close, Cuddy realized then that… she could never give this up.
Which meant it didn't matter what Becca might or might not have seen when she gave Joy away. Her reasons might have been good or faulty, but that didn't matter now. Nor did it matter that House had abused Vicodin for all of those years or that Cuddy had refused to celebrate Christmas – and that Joy had been the product of all of those things.
Because to change any of that would mean changing so many wonderful memories and nuances of the relationships Cuddy held most dear. And maybe if she were a less selfish person, she could bear to part with Hanukkah memories and all of those moments in the last nineteen years with House and Joy.
But she was selfish, and there was absolutely no part of her willing to give away any of those things. There was no part of her that was willing to let go. She couldn't give this away.
Because she was Joy's mother.
Pulling her daughter closer, Cuddy hoped that that would be enough.
VIX. Nineteen Years Old
She'd been lecturing House about proper grocery store etiquette when they'd entered the house. The incident one Cuddy would have easily forgotten if not for what happened after, she'd been telling him how he could not go dump boxes of condoms in a woman's cart simply because she had five screaming, crying children with her.
And for his part, House had been stubbornly refusing to listen to her, sarcastically arguing that he was merely doing his part to keep the world's population under control. Which had made the remarks, "Grow up," and "I can't take you anywhere," easily slide on her tongue.
And frankly, the argument probably could have lasted all day if Joy hadn't interrupted them.
But she had.
With the tears in her eyes and the pregnancy test in her hand, God, she had.
It had been three months since Joy had come home from school, three long and painful months since things had changed. And although both House and Cuddy had known that she could potentially become pregnant, thanks to their own shortsighted minds that had been so focused on the rape kit and not procuring a high dose of levonorgestrel, they had somehow believed, been convinced actually, that Joy would not end up pregnant.
So thin and small, her body, they'd told one another many times, wouldn't be equipped to deal with pregnancy. And they'd tried to ensure that with giving her the morning after pill anyway.
But, the bright blue positive symbol visible to Cuddy even from this distance, it had been proof:
They were wrong.
Cuddy had dropped the groceries she'd been holding. House, having refused to carry any bags in from the car, had instead immediately rolled his eyes in disbelief. His reaction making Cuddy feel even more surprised, even more out of place, she hadn't even known where to start. Her eyes darting back and forth from him to Joy to the test and back again, she had had no idea what to say.
"Mommy?" Joy had asked nervously.
But shaking her head, she'd been at a loss for words. "I…" She'd angled her whole body then to look at House, hoping he would know what to say.
And House had spoken, but, as Cuddy had known for years, that had never meant he'd be saying the right thing. Which had very quickly become the case in this particular instance. His eyes narrowed on Joy, he'd smirked almost immediately. "Cute, but next time, I think Mommy would prefer those lame little finger paintings you did in kindergarten."
Joy had frowned. "Dr. House…"
"Where'd you get the pee stick, pipsqueak?" he'd asked suddenly.
Both Cuddy and Joy had looked at him strangely then. An odd question even for the bizarre circumstances they'd been finding themselves in for some time, it hadn't made any sense to Cuddy until her daughter had answered. "I… stole it from under the bathroom sink in your bedroom," she'd admitted slowly, guiltily.
House's smirk had widened into a full out grin as Cuddy had sighed with relief. "Thank God," she'd muttered in a low voice.
But not quietly enough, because Joy had looked at them both as though they weren't making any sense. "What are you guys talking about? I took the test." Her eyes filling with tears, she had started to say, "I'm, I'm –"
"How hold you think that is, Cuddy? Fifteen years? Twenty?" he'd asked conversationally, interrupting Joy's confession.
She'd replied in an almost conversational tone, "Probably eighteen," despite realizing that the test Joy had taken had been one Cuddy herself had almost had to take. But as the words had been spoken, there'd been a slight softening in House's gaze, a look of understanding directed towards her, and she hadn't been able to think anything other than that she'd failed to keep that realization to herself.
House hadn't responded right away, giving Joy the opportunity to ask, "There's an expiration date?"
In all honesty, House had looked as though he'd wanted to shove his head through a plate glass window in frustration. "Yes," he'd snapped. "The dates are on the box and on all of that foil you had to rip through to get to the test."
Joy had stopped crying, her mood seemingly lightening a little. She'd shaken her head. "But –"
"Pee on a test that old, and it's not gonna be reliable," he'd concluded for her. "If I peed on a test that old, it'd probably say I was pregnant. Hell," he'd added particularly bitingly, pointing at Cuddy, "It's so old, it'd probably say Mommy's barren womb had a kid taking up residence."
"You watch your mouth," Cuddy had snapped warningly. As much of House as she could take at any given time, she had long since realized – and there was no doubt that he must have as well – that there were still going to be times when he pushed her to the limit. It was in his blood, something he compulsively had to do… like a puppy nipping at his siblings to know what hurt.
And while she could forgive him, could learn to deal with it, Cuddy had also long embraced her right to snap back as hard as necessary to show him that he'd crossed a line. And frankly, after the very, very long trip to the grocery store, and now this, she'd reached the end of her rope… not that her infertility was ever a topic she allowed him to dwell on.
The dark look in her eyes aimed at him had only served to reinforce the warning in her tones.
The words had largely been unspoken, but just seeing the way his own gaze had changed slightly had been proof enough: he'd gotten the message. His mood shifting, calming a little, he'd turned his attention back to Joy. "The chances of you actually being pregnant are –"
"Very slim," Cuddy had offered in an attempt to console as she'd stepped over the forgotten grocery bags and moved toward her daughter. "You're so small, sweetheart. You'd probably have to gain a good bit of weight before –"
"Probably isn't the same thing as definitely," Joy had said, a sad quality to her voice.
"Joy, unless something has changed since we last talked about this, you've never had regular menstrual –"
House had interrupted, letting out a pained sound that Cuddy had assumed had everything to do with his distaste for the fact that Joy was, actually, a young woman. But instead, he'd scowled, "I can't believe you're a doctor and just said that. Granted, your favorite activity is forcing me to give all the pelvics in the clinic," he'd conceded bitterly. "But even you should know that you can get pregnant without perfectly timed cycles."
This time Cuddy had been the one to scowl. "I do know that," she'd said through gritted teeth. "My point was that, as not having a period isn't uncommon, we shouldn't assume –"
Her arms pulling her daughter into a hug, it still hadn't been enough to stop her from interrupting very quietly, "I think I should take another test anyway."
There'd been a firmness there that neither House nor Cuddy had any intention of fighting against. Especially considering that, at that moment, their own beliefs that she wasn't pregnant had largely been based on the desire that she not be pregnant, they had no ground to stand on.
They had to do what she'd wanted.
And House had seemed to accept this first, nodding his head before turning and leaving. The sound of his motorcycle roaring out of her driveway, it had made Joy look up and ask, "Do you think he's getting the test or…" Her voice had been tentative, as she'd finished the rest. "Is he… you know, leaving?"
Cuddy had shaken her head no. "Dr. House is like vermin; he's not leaving as long as he gets free food." Kissing Joy's forehead tenderly, Cuddy had told her confidently, "Don't worry. He's getting the test."
Granted… there was a good chance that he'd stop at a bar for a drink before coming back, she'd realized at the time. And there was an even larger chance that he'd take the time to schedule an appointment for an abortion prematurely while he was out.
But with all of that said, there'd been no doubt in her mind that he'd be back. She'd been smugly sure of that.
That sense of correctness, of knowing the world around her, however, hadn't lasted.
Now, two hours later, with a shaking daughter in her arms, Cuddy couldn't help but see:
She'd been right about House but so wrong about Joy.
The test sitting on the floor in front of them, it was now a 99.9% certainty that Joy was pregnant.
Pregnant by that… that… that animal who had raped her.
That knowledge weighed heavily on her, her body leaning against House. He was sitting on the toilet seat behind her, one of his hands rubbing his thigh, the other uncharacteristically delicately touching her neck. He'd never quite learned to be… tender, for lack of a better word. And instead of fingers gently carding through her hair or rubbing her cheek, Cuddy got this ticklish touch that made her want to squirm away.
Her forehead resting against his knee, however, she didn't move.
She couldn't.
Her nineteen-year-old daughter, who should have been in school having the time of her life, was pregnant. And although there would be a time when they would all have to get up, have to accept what was happening, right now, Cuddy was content to have him here at all. She was also complacent with giving into, repeating, the lies she needed to believe.
Her arms holding Joy tightly, she lied. She said it would be okay, even though she was sure now that it could never be. Because, in the back of her mind, Cuddy couldn't help but think that even if Joy had an abortion, that wouldn't make things right. That wouldn't make any of this disappear, even though House would surely, by tonight, once the shock wore off, try to convince them all of that.
He would lie then, would pretend that things could be okay, but she was doing that now. The words flowing through her so easily, her mind wandered separately. And as she reassured Joy, Cuddy couldn't help but remember all of the instances where she had been in this exact same bathroom wishing for one of those stupid tests to be positive.
She had spent thousands of dollars, hundreds of minutes in the hopes of getting that result. In this very same room, twenty years ago, she would have given anything, sacrificed everything she had, for a positive response.
Now they had that plus symbol in the results window.
And Cuddy would have done anything and everything to take it back.
XX. Too young for this
"Can we kill it already?" House whined obnoxiously, the cherry lollipop nestled in the space between his cheek and teeth.
He was sitting on the far right end of the couch with Joy, watching some lame movie he'd never seen before. His legs stretched out in front of him, his feet were propped up on Cuddy's coffee table, despite the fact that he knew she hated it when he did that. Actually, he considered at that moment, he was probably doing it because she hated it.
Of course, even if she walked into the house right now, she wouldn't be pissed. He knew that much. Because what with Joy curled up at his side, her head resting on his good thigh, Cuddy would be too pleased to care.
As though he could say the same, House thought bitterly.
He liked Joy, maybe even loved her, but he had pretty much resigned himself, and not begrudgingly so, to never being comfortable with showing it. And all of her life, Joy had accepted that fact. But now, with baby hormones and all of that crap, she was clingy and affectionate, and really, if it weren't for the constant cravings for sugar and other unhealthy crap that Cuddy was all too eager to oblige, he would have cut his losses and limped away.
Her own lollipop stick lightly digging into his thigh, Joy said dryly, "That's direct."
"It's been two months," he pointed out. "I've run out of ways of saying it nicely."
"You were being nice about it before?" she asked, the playfulness they'd long since thought forgotten slowly creeping into her voice.
He didn't answer the question, instead diverting her attention by offering sardonically, "I did contemplate getting, 'Joy, abort your rape baby,' written in skywriting, but… I prefer the more direct approach." A false smile on his face that she couldn't see, he told her cheerily, "But hey, that's just me."
"'Rape baby,' Daddy?" Joy asked, the title he had never been comfortable with emphasized just for him.
"Hey!" He bristled at the name and chomped down loudly on the cherry lollipop in his mouth. "No name calling," he commanded, chewing the rest of the candy.
She grumbled, "You started it," her hand nevertheless digging in the plastic bag propped against her swollen belly for another red lollipop.
Taking the proffered piece of candy, he nodded his head. "Yeah," he agreed quietly.
They fell into silence then, both of their gazes aimed at the television. Of course whether Joy was actually paying attention to the movie playing was a different matter; after all, it wasn't like House had any idea what was going on.
Thanks to the news from eight weeks ago, he found his attention usually on one thing and one thing only: this pregnancy. This horribly doomed pregnancy that could not possibly go well. If there were one thing he was truly convinced of, it was that.
This could not end well.
"There's no turning back," he told her quietly. "You have this kid, and you're stuck with –"
Joy sighed loudly, giving him pause. Rolling onto her back with effort, she glanced up at him. "That's kind of the point," she interrupted. "I mean it wasn't exactly my goal to just be the incubator in this equation."
"What, not going to follow in your other Mommy's footsteps?" he asked sarcastically, pretending to be surprised.
She rolled her eyes. "What's your point, Dr. House?"
"My point is right now you've got tons of hormones whose names I can't pronounce coursing through your veins." His eyes softening as he peered down on her, he told her, "It's like… nature's evolutionary heroin telling you that you should do this, but –"
"Yeah, the voices are telling me to do it," she replied, her own sarcasm clearly evident.
He sighed. "You're not crazy. You just… haven't thought this through."
"What do you think's going to happen?" she asked in confusion. "Do you think it's gonna be like, 'Here comes the head,' and I'm going to suddenly realize I don't want to do this?"
"I think there's a really big difference between getting a little chunky and raising a kid who is the product of the worst night of your life." He sounded serious, sincere even to his own ears. But still not entirely comfortable with the idea that Joy might know how much he cared, he turned his gaze to the unwrapped lollipop in his hands.
"Dr. House, I know that it'll be hard," she told him, sounding exasperated. "I know that it will be different than anything I've done before. But," she drawled out slowly. "I also know that… having an abortion isn't going to change what's happened. I'm not going to feel any better about being raped," Joy said harshly, "by killing the child growing inside of me." Turning back toward the television, she was much quieter when she spoke up again. "I can't do that. It's not right."
House rolled his eyes in response. "Channeling Jerry Falwell now, are we?"
"I don't know who that is." She was clearly trying to be patient with him, but the way she snatched the plastic wrapping off of her own lemon-flavored lollipop said she was teetering on the edge of being absolutely fed up.
"Doesn't matter. My point is you're acting like this is something you have to do." Taking a long pull on the candy in his hand, he added disdainfully, "You act like God's gonna stick a lightning bolt in your ass if you have a medical procedure performed."
"Okay, well, setting aside the fact that I've never said anything like that," she said snottily, "I think that's probably a little better than letting you badger me into this abortion."
"I'm not –"
"Right, you're giving me a choice." Her voice was filled with a doubt he didn't like to hear. "As long as it's what you want, you're all for it. How shocking."
He shifted on the couch as best as anyone could with one bad thigh and another acting as a pillow. Sounding as though he were beginning to feel contrite, House replied, "You make it sound like that's a bad thing or something."
"I know I have a choice," she told him calmly. Her pregnant body laboriously turning over to face him, her back to the television, she was firm when she said, "But I'm not going to have an abortion. And I'm definitely not going to change my mind, because you hate new people."
"Well now you're just being unfair," he criticized. "I'm not a fan of people in general, new or otherwise."
"Dr. House…"
"All right, fine," House conceded hastily. "My reasons might not be honorable – I admit it. But you're not really gonna try and tell me you haven't thought about what happens if you give birth to the kid and, for whatever reason, can't bond with it?"
"No." Her voice was firm, and, given what she'd been through, he couldn't believe her. Visibly bristling at her response, he wasn't surprised when Joy repeated, "No. I haven't thought of that, because, even though I'm… nervous about what's going to happen – scared or whatever – I know I'm doing the right thing. And I know I can do it, so… I haven't thought about that at all."
She sounded honest, but it wasn't enough to convince him. "Uh huh," he replied in disbelief. And then, not waiting for her to defend herself, he said more cheerily, "Then lets go down that road together, shall we?"
He didn't give her a chance to say no.
"You crap the kid out; they clean it up, whatever. You're tired from having your loins stretched and pulled in ways that's going to make your mother incredibly happy she adopted you."
Joy smiled and pushed a strand of hair out of her face.
"You'll be too tired to really care one way or the other what's going on around you, anyway," House continued. "And Cuddy's Type A enough to take over Mommy duties, even if that's not what you really want."
"But I would want her help."
"Whatever," House said, dismissing the thought. "Point is, it'll be a few days before you really figure out what's going on, before you realize whether or not you can handle raising this kid."
She began to protest, "I already said I –"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know what you said. Doesn't mean when you're actually faced with it, it'll happen."
Joy shook her head, the friction against his jeans making his thigh warm. Her dark eyes narrowing on him, she argued, "You just don't want to believe that I can do this."
"Not true," he said frustrated. "You pop the kid out and decide you love it and it's the bestest little baby in the whole world? Wonderful." His head cocked to the side, House couldn't help but add, "You'll be guilty of cruelty, of course – forcing me to deal with three generations of Cuddys. But wonderful."
Her response was a dry "Yeah, you sound real pleased about that."
"I can… deal with it," he said not entirely confident. As an afterthought, he mentioned casually, "Mommy's funbags are more than enough to keep me around."
"Oh gross," Joy groused, burying her face into his stomach in disgust. Her voice became high-pitched and whiny. "Why do you have to say such nasty things?"
"Because, after nineteen years of messing with you, it's the only thing I can talk about that still shocks you," he explained easily.
"Still," she protested. "You want me to barf all these lollipops back up? Cause that's what's going to happen if you keep talking like that."
He patted her head in a half-assed manner. "Don't worry about the happy ending," he instructed, changing the topic at hand abruptly.
"Then what would you like me to worry about exactly?"
"What happens if you don't bond with the kid? If you can't look at it without seeing what happened to you?"
She shook her head again. "That won't –"
"Just shut up and play along, all right?" He could feel her jaw clenching, could feel his own mimicking the behavior. And once satisfied that she wouldn't interrupt again, he explained quietly, "That happens, there are only a couple roads to go down. One, we all pretend like resenting your kid for reasons it has no control over is something you can get over easily."
House wasn't sure why he thought of his father then. There had been resentment in the relationship, yes. Obviously yes. But it was a completely different situation. Even though he'd never been sure whether his father had refused to talk to him that summer because both men had discovered the truth or because his father couldn't accept being told that his son didn't see him as his father anymore, House knew it was different. The mutual antipathy towards one another had always been well founded, DNA results irrelevant by comparison. His father's own dependence on the rules completely at odds with House's own disregard for them, there had never been any question in his mind why they fought with one another so much.
And yet House had thought of the man long since dead anyway.
"Dr. House?" Joy asked with concern.
He shook his head, physically trying to clear the thoughts from his mind. "We both know that's not going to work. You'll be pissed at the kid. Your mother, who's practically done everything she can to have a child, will be pissed at you, even if she doesn't want to be. I'll be pissed at you both for ruining a… relatively good thing, and then you'll hate me for eventually telling the demon spawn what you feel."
She lightly jabbed him in the stomach with her fist. "My child isn't demon spawn, you –"
"So this is what happens, kid," he said, cutting her off. "Nobody's happy, and you'll have to make a choice: either learn to live with the brat or give it up for adoption, and just so we're clear," House warned seriously. "Your mom would never be able to live with the second."
"Yeah, cause she's so against adoption."
"Lets not pretend that there's no difference between that and this, okay?" he asked testily.
Joy sighed. "All you're telling me is that, if I have my baby, I'll have to raise and love him or her." Her eyes narrowing on him, she said seriously, "But that's what I've been planning on doing all along."
"And if things don't go according to plan?"
The question hung in the air for a long time. His gaze settling on the television for a bit, he was more than willing to wait her out. But what it was that he hoped she would say, he didn't know; at that point, he wasn't sure what he preferred from her: another round of this ridiculous fight or an admittance on her part that he was right. Somehow House was absolutely sure that all roads led to more misery for all of them. So sure, in fact, that he thought he shouldn't have been surprised that Joy's response was neither fighting or acceptance but rather a tear-filled silence that immediately caught his attention.
Her sniffles were probably quiet enough to go unnoticed, a shoot out in the movie easily covering the sound. But the wet tears sliding down her cheeks and onto his pants weren't so easily hidden; the fabric of his jeans well worn, it was hardly any barrier, and the moment Joy started crying, he knew. He could feel it.
When he looked down at her in reaction, she asked, "Why are you doing this? Why are you so convinced that I'll be horrible at this?" Her hand angrily clutching her yellow lollipop, Joy said, "I've done everything you and Mommy said I had to do to keep the baby healthy. I've gained forty pounds so far. I eat everything you tell me to. I sleep even though it scares me and I don't want to," she pointed out, clearly trying to force him to admit that she was more ready to do this than he liked to think. "Therapy three times a week. Art therapy on Sunday afternoons. Why," she demanded furiously, "is none of that enough for you?"
Her anger stunned him into silence.
She had never been a particularly fiery child, her disposition generally an even-keeled one. Especially considering all the time she spent with Cuddy and House himself, he thought she'd grown into a fairly normal, sweet girl.
Which made this outburst even more surprising.
He shrugged his shoulders in response, the "I don't know" slipping out before he could stop it. Before he could even realize just how… untrue the whole thing was.
And it was untrue. The reason so obvious, even to himself, it was impossible to believe that she didn't know it as well: he cared about her, maybe even worried about her well being in the same way he'd come to do with Cuddy.
He supposed that… he should just accept that fact and move on; nearly twenty years later, he realized that it wasn't useful to be this disturbed by the way their three lives intersected with one another. After all this time, he shouldn't constantly find his gaze down at his own feet, find himself wondering how the hell he ended up on this particular path.
But for whatever reason, he did.
Perhaps it was because he had no idea what he had done to earn such… loyalty from either woman that made him feel this way. Made him feel as though he were absolutely out of place, at least. But House had a feeling that what intrigued him more than anything was that he was this insinuated in Cuddy and Joy's life at all. Because… he hadn't planned on this.
Any of this.
All he'd ever hoped to do was annoy Cuddy out of the adoption, to be honest. Or if he'd fallen short of that, his goal had been to keep Cuddy right where he wanted her: ready to sign off on a dangerous procedure, or at least argue with him about it, with her ass in a tight skirt and cleavage neatly displayed.
Hell, he thought with a mental eye roll; even then, when he hadn't been seriously thinking of Cuddy in any romantic way, he'd wanted her. Or rather, he'd wanted to keep her available should he have gotten drunk and desperate enough one night. Which had been nothing short of unfair, he realized, especially when he considered that, in the end, he'd gotten her anyway.
But that had been the plan… the plan that had failed. Or succeeded, depending on how you looked at it, he guessed. Joy had stayed obviously, and Cuddy's role in his life had dramatically changed, as he had feared. But what Joy's presence in his life had ended up meaning, what that change in his relationship with Cuddy had meant…
House had never anticipated that any of those ramifications could be good. At the time, when Cuddy had first announced that she was going to adopt, he'd seen the bad things. He'd seen the throw up on the clothes and the time taken away from work. He'd seen the screaming kid and all of the stress that went with that.
He'd seen most of the bad things, but…
He hadn't seen any of the good.
And it made House wonder then if maybe he were doing the same with this. So much so that he was taken off guard when Joy spoke again. Her voice was firm. "I know you don't understand why I have to do this, Dr. House. But I do need to have this baby. I just…"
Her voice trailed off as she seemingly tried to think of what she wanted to say. Curious about her reasons, he stayed silent, sucking on his lollipop quietly. His eyes never leaving her, he watched her carefully, taking in each subtle change of her appearance – the way the top set of her teeth nibbled at her lower lip, the way her eyelashes fluttered shut, as she worked to find the right words.
"I need to know that things can be okay… good again," she eventually said, nodding her head as though she were sure. "I need to know that I didn't go through… that for no reason."
"You need to feel like you're being tested?" House offered, disdain buried in the back of his throat.
"No." Her forehead wrinkled in confusion as though she were considering what he was saying. She repeated herself. "No. I don't think I'm being tested. I just… need to know that everything happened for a reason. That the… universe or whatever isn't indifferent to –"
"It is indifferent," he argued, his voice hardening. "I get that you want there to be a reason. But…" He paused for dramatic effect and then slowly told her, "Sometimes there just isn't." He tried to sound gentler than he had moments before, but he was sure that he had failed. "People are born, murdered, married, raped every day. There's no reason for it. And nobody cares about any of it except the people who love you. A baby isn't going to change that fact."
"Fine," she conceded in annoyance after a moment of consideration. "I put it badly, I guess. And maybe you're right. Maybe… the rest of the world is indifferent to me. I don't know." The frown on her face became more pronounced for a minute before the muscles around her lips relaxed. "But I do know that a baby would change everything for me. I do know that if… I could have this baby in my life, if I could love him or her, then I could believe that there was some goodness and happiness left for me." Much quieter, Joy added, "I could believe things could get better."
Holding a hand abruptly to stop him from interrupting with the sarcastic comment he easily thought of, Joy said irritably, "I know it's not a guarantee, so you don't need to list your favorite made-for-television movies to convince me of anything."
She looked up at him then, a calmness on her face, a serenity radiating from her that he didn't think she possessed. "But this is a risk I have to take. Not because God or anyone else is telling me to. But because I want to. And I thought," she started to say sadly, the words coming out slow, "that if anyone could understand the importance of risking something in order for results or to gain something, it would be you."
The comment hit home, because almost immediately, unbidden, all the times he had broken the rules for a test, a diagnosis, an answer flooded his mind. Images, one right after the other, played like a movie on an old-fashioned projector, his memory traitorously bringing up one instance after another in an endless loop.
And in that moment, feeling almost as though he were looking at his own life from an outside perspective, he could see finally all of the reasons Cuddy had been yelling at him all these years. Before he had only vaguely noted that what he'd been doing at the time was wrong or crossing some line. Before he'd been too intent in his quest to care about anything else.
But now, he could see just what Cuddy had been so up in arms over. Not that he planned on changing anything about the way he treated his patients, but… in a way, he could finally understand where she was coming from…
And he thought he could finally understand Joy's motivation as well.
As much as part of him wished he would keep fighting her, another part of House was resigned to this: she wanted this baby, and she was going to have it. And even though he couldn't, wouldn't deny what was at risk, House could now begin to see… that she thought the risk was worth it. And there would be no talking Joy out of it.
Sighing, he traced an eyebrow with his thumb. "That was a good line," he told her lazily. "Talking about risk. You make me feel like I'm your mother telling you to be cautious."
Joy gave him a cautious smile but said nothing in response.
"Well," he drawled out slowly. "Just so we're clear – I'm not going to get up in the middle of the night when it cries. And if it pees on me," he warned darkly, "I'm not promising I won't sell it to someone even more desperate for a baby than your mother was."
The threat fell short of causing any real terror. A wide smile appearing on her face, Joy looked as though she wanted to hug him as hard as she could. His own body tensing at the possibility, a hand protectively, instinctively, headed towards his thigh. Because, should she decide to pounce on him, his leg would need all the guarding it could have.
But she didn't hug him. Instead, as she rolled over, she said, "Thank you, Dr. House." Her voice sincere, she didn't have to say any more; he could tell she was happy.
She reached behind herself then, her swollen hands groping for the lollipop bag now stuck between her body and the couch. Unceremoniously handing him the bag, she asked him, "Finish these, will you? They're making me want to throw up."
He didn't need to be asked twice, his greedy fingers eagerly rummaging for another cherry-flavored one, as she settled down next to him.
But given that Joy and House had been eating the candy all day, finding another red one was easier said than done. Because although Joy only wanted the lemon ones, he'd only asked for the cherries. And that meant he had to dig through the super-sized plastic bag for another cherry.
Granted, if worse came to worse, House would consider lowering his standards for an orange or lime-flavored one. But he was not going to settle for a horse if there were a glossy red zebra somewhere in the bag to be found.
Five minutes later, as his patience strained under his growing irritation over not finding what he wanted, House finally found one. The saccharine sweet taste of victory short, he'd barely had one good lick before realizing…
The kid was sleeping.
On him.
Her body curled into his side, her head was still resting on his lap. And that meant that despite the fact that his body was thrumming on sugar and the desire to move, he couldn't. Wouldn't be able to, he thought bitterly, nearly choking on his lollipop.
Great.
This was just great.
He couldn't wake her up, he realized immediately. Cuddy would literally rip his balls off – of that he had no doubt. Because she'd already been acting like a sleep Nazi, enforcing slumber with an iron fist. Lights out at a certain hour; no noise when Joy was sleeping; no, no, no waking her up unless the house were on fire… the unspoken rules listing themselves in his mind, he thought to himself that, unless he wanted to deal with the laxatives-Vicodin switch again, he'd just have to deal with Joy on his lap.
Not like it would have been an easy task to slide the hippopotamus off of him anyway. More than likely, that would have stopped his old heart.
And unwilling to wake her up or die, he miserably had to sit there, watching the television and eating lollipops. Which might not have been so bad, he realized, if it didn't also make him a target for Cuddy's deranged looks and sentimentality.
Case in point, the moment she walked in the door and saw them, she looked as though she were on the verge of tears. Despite praying that Joy would wake up before then, he had failed, was forced to sit there and watch Cuddy react.
It took a second, but it did happen. A huge grin split her thinning lips. A certain glow spread across her features, and she almost immediately began to look at them as though they were daddy and daughter snuggling.
Cuddy tried to cover for it with a sarcastic "Well, at least you aren't chasing her around with a wire coat hanger and a vacuum." But she'd already made her sickly sweet feelings known.
Calmly, gruffly, House said, "Please tell me that psychotic look on your face means you have a chainsaw behind your back and you're not afraid to use it."
Quietly setting her briefcase on the vacant chair that House wished he were sitting in right about now, she tried to hide her smile to no avail. But when she leaned down to kiss him, he could feel the upturn of her lips against his scowl. And then in a near whisper, she taunted, "I used to think that you spent all your time here because you liked my ass. But now…"
Her voice trailed off as she kissed him again, one of her hands running through what little was left of his hair. Her eyes bright with an impishness he was sure would make him groan, she teased, "Now, I'm beginning to think you actually like this." Her hand waved around loosely in the air, gesturing towards Joy's head on his lap.
"I think you're just underestimating my appreciation for your ass," House quipped easily as she pulled away.
"Maybe." Conceding, she headed towards the kitchen. But the tone of her voice was telling, said she didn't believe him at all.
A second passed before he thought with a sigh…
He didn't believe himself either.
